Little Women: The Biker and the Ballerina
by UndomesticatedSoA
Summary: Everyone has a motive for their actions; some are simply more obvious than others.


**A/N**

**UndomesticatedSoA - Definition: A collaboration between Voracious Bitch and MuckyShroom, exploring the women of SAMCRO. Some characters are canon, some OFCs. Some situations are AU, some canon. If you want more info, just check out the bio.**

**Disclaimer: All characters, etc from Sons of Anarchy are the property of Kurt Sutter, FX, etc. We own nothing that you recognise from SoA.**

**Our OC's are our own.**

**-o0o—**

**The Biker and the Ballerina**

Happy watched the girl slowly flow around the pole. Her body was boneless as far as he could tell. She was ribbon of silk. Her feet never seemed to touch the ground. She wasn't his type. She was sparrow small. To look at her you would never see the strength she was now exhibiting. Her body was bending and twisting with a fluid, predatory agility that had caught and pulled his attention from the usual bottle blonde sweetbutt he found ease with. His gaze had been drawn from the moment she had started walking with a sure stride across the clubhouse floor towards the pole.

When she'd first stepped up to the pole a few of the boys had even ribbed her to leave it for the girls with something to show off. She had just smiled to herself and gripped the pole in her hands. As the music began she'd pulled her body up and off the platform, her legs slowly spreading into splits to then be brought in, still mid-air, as her eyes had scanned out across the room. He'd watched as most of the men had begun to turn and drift towards her. Truth was, if the girl hadn't started dancing none of them would have really paid her much attention; but her eyes glowed and she looked at the crowed with a smile of devil may care delight. If you actually caught her gaze it promised you that she was only there for you that each movement was a pledge that she was making to you and you alone. With a slow glide of pink tongue across her lip and a wink she made you hunger to taste what she was offering, if you were man enough to step up.

Her song was a raw beat wrapped in languid, dramatic melody. Her movements flowed with it. She was downright stunning once she began to move. Even he found himself drifting closer, his eyes on the play of her movements as she shed her clothing. She was water in motion, smooth, irrepressible, powerful, erotic.

Her hair, sable black, fell around her, making the green of her eyes that much more intense. Her small frame was clad in simple, cotton, gypsy skirt, long for the clubhouse on a Friday night. Her silken, strappy top was loose and draped over her small peach sized breasts. As she moved it caressed her skin, a blushed porcelain that was fresh, untouched and somehow all the more attractive for it. That delicate perfection tantalisingly revealed itself to him as she slithered free from the top. There was no artifice or tease, she simply dropped her arms and allowed it to slip from her. She spun and the too long skirt swirled high and dropped free with a tug of her pale, delicate fingers. The girls were even quiet and watched, some with awe and some with grim envy, but almost all of the of the Friday night party was watching her now as she danced and her eyes swept over the room full of leather and lust. No one had gotten a taste as of yet, but every man in the room was planning on being the first.

When the song ended her small frame was wrapped around the base of the pole, her legs tucked under her ass, her back arched, head thrown back, hair draped across one shoulder covering one of her small breasts. The room was silent. Happy stood and while all the other men sat still entranced he stepped in and pulled her small frame up and into his chest. She never tensed at the rough pull of his grip. She seemed to push into his hold, her sable hair falling like silk over his arm as she leaned back. Those emerald green eyes peered up at him, bright with hunger and something else. She was high. It wasn't chemically assisted; she was riding her power, high on the thrill of taking a room full of loud, rough men and bringing them to her, pulling them into silent adoration. This little sparrow knew how to soar in the clouds. She knew her strength and she wasn't afraid to use it. Happy knew without doubt that the little bit of a thing pressed against him was a deadly as he was in her own right. She could use this adoration as a weapon if she wished, could make a man do whatever she wanted. She would be able to bend a man to her whim and twist him around her until he was lost in her mysterious sensuality, unable to figure out which way was up anymore and willing to go to any length to keep her as his own.

She looked at the dark rough-handed man in front of her and felt the ground beneath her feet solidify. There was no space between them. His grip was tight around her arms, not painful but restraining. She basked in the contrasting sensations. She felt the warm, butter soft leather against her breast, the cold bit of his buckle on her naked belly just above her navel and the worn softness of the denim between her legs, the cold length of chain just brushing against the side of her thigh.

Her endorphic state of fantasy was morphing into the real world now that she was no longer dancing. For one brief moment she felt a prickle of fear run up her spine, but she shook free of it. Her eyes met his dark pools of amber. She watched the sift and play of light in them as they shifted across her face and landed on her lips. She felt more then heard a deep rumble from him and in a split second the solid ground disappeared. His rough hands, only moments before holding her arms and pressing her into him, were now lifting her up. Soft leather, cold steel and coarse denim shifted and slid against her skin, making her suck in air as she instinctively moved, wrapping herself around him, legs gripping were he'd lifted them. Her body shook at the feel of his hands gliding along the back of her thighs to grip her ass. She realized he was moving, navigating them away from the room which was now swinging back to its revelry.

She heard the shouts of encouragement yelled at the man who had her in his grip and felt a rush of heat in her cheeks at the crude words slung so casually, but again she shook herself. This was why she was here. She was here to be in her own skin, to just be a woman desired for herself, not daddy's money, not the position and standing that came from her years of effort and endless sacrifices that had brought her fame on the boards. She was running from all the lies she had been fed by her own father and the husband she'd taken.

Her husband had convinced her that she was all that he wanted. had fed her the promise of true love. She, with all the innocent hope of a soft hearted girl, had fallen for his lies and lost a piece of herself over and over with every betrayal he levelled at her. The final one had taken the only thing she had always been able to call her own, the stage. His ultimate treachery had been his intent to end her career, to break her down into pieces of a washed-up prima ballerina. He'd been drugging her until she was nothing more than an addict who lost all sense of herself and all so his little ingénue could take her place. He had fed her destructive addiction and its virulent self-loathing until she was shattered like shards of the crystal vase she'd thrown at him before she'd left.

This was her time now. She would take what she wanted, claim what she needed. Anonymity was a comforting blanket around her, a shield. The way these men had responded to her had been a rush more heady than anything the narcotics could synthesise. She'd forgotten how intoxicating the response of the audience, any audience, could be. She had drunk deep during the weightless suspension of time when the world had narrowed down to the movement of her limbs around the hard length of chrome.

For tonight this man was hers. She would take and she would give and so would he. She would feed from his strength.


End file.
